Inconvenience Store
by Project X
Summary: A one-shot: about the poor ex-angel, 'sale's representative', and the girl that works with him.


**Author's Note: **_Wrote this for Tumblr, thought I'd share it with you guys. Wrote it a week before the episode with Store Clerk Cas appeared._

"**In-Convenience Store"**

_A one-shot: about the poor ex-angel, 'sale's representative', and the girl that works with him._

Day 1: _The 7/11 just outside a highway in a small rural town._

"Jayden Carver, right?" The manager clicked his silver pen annoyingly, as he made 'tisks' and 'tasks' sounds with his tongue. In loopy lettering, after a single nod from myself, he wrote my name on a clipboard; as well as the time I got here and his personal opinion on my wardrobe.

I looked down at myself, the usual grey and purple Imagine Dragon's band shirt on my torso, ancient ripped up blue jeans on my legs, TARDIS Converses on my feet, and Avenger's hoody on my back, plus the old black leather jacket because of how cold it was outside. Something akin to my everyday attire, not to mention the brass angel wings necklace and black prescription glasses on my nose.

The older man scoffed but I ignored him, putting my hands in my hoody pockets.

This was my first day on my first job and already the manager or owner or whatever he was, of the 7/11, hated my guts. Was it because I wasn't dressed like a girl? No cleavage? Should I have come to work as if I was a waitress at Hooters?

Even against his better judgment, Enrico, the owner, handed me the horrid blue vest and told me to watch the register. After that he left, leaving me to mind the store with Karla; the uncaring stocker who just painted her nails and texted all day. So, even if I had questions, there was no one to ask. But as the day went by, only two or three people came in, buying gas and lottery tickets mostly. Nothing major happened, and I didn't spectacularly screw up like I usually do.

The day ended, the convenience store closed, no explosions made, no fires had, and I headed back to my tiny, but clean, apartment on Apricot Street. It took me ten minutes on my motorcycle, to get home. Luckily the thing didn't skitter out and die on me, then came the trek up ten flights of stairs, the elevator having been broken for the last three years.

My name is Jayden Carver, I'm twenty years old, and I'm on my second year of basics in college, trying to get my English Bachelor's degree. My classes are online, though the wifi I have in my apartment is crappy, the wifi in the café I frequent is where I do most my work.

Heading inside apartment 156, I crumble onto my couch, really the only piece of furniture I have in the living room other than the small TV. It's my second week living on my own, and I feel the world distorting around me.

When I was 18 I graduated high school and started working on my college classes, that journey, however, was rudely interrupted when my mother died. After her death my step father, finally had no reason to put up with me or my brother anymore, so he tossed us out. My brother went and stayed at a co-workers place, and I ended up with our drunken and 'good intentioned' father as a roommate. Several months later this ended as well, after one night he came home high as well as drunk, and we had a 'physical altercation' as the police report had read.

But even in his drunken state my father went easy on me, while in the mean time I gave him two black eyes and a broken nose. Never staying where I'm not welcome I got a job and started living in the cheapest, but still pretty homey, apartment complex in town.

Getting up from the couch, I groaned and put my messenger bag gently on the table in the petite kitchen. The bag had the most expensive thing I owned right now in it, my computer. With that tucked away I went into the bathroom and started some warm water into the clean tub. As the mirror above the sink began to fog I looked into it, seeing black bags under my emerald eyes, and dead ends on my short curly brown hair. Clearly, it was going to take me a while to adjust to this kind of life.

No friends, no family, no home, and insomnia.

**-X-**

Day 10: _The day Karla gets fired and is replaced with 'Steve'._

Enrico had caught Karla nabbing money from the register; she was fired quicker than I could blink. Not but a day later Enrico had a strange interview with an equally strange guy. Called himself 'Steve', something about him though, well for one thing he did not look like a Steve that was for sure. For another, something about him, it just wasn't right.

The morning he comes in I'm restocking shelves, doing Karla's job for her. He seems lost, confused, unsure of what to do. I sigh, feeling for the guy, my first day had been similar. But unlike Call Girl Karla, I wasn't about to let the poor guy suffer. Reminded me too much of a wet kitten anyway.

"Hey, Steve!" I call from the back; the guy doesn't seem fazed by my shout, still looking around as if he hadn't heard me. "Steve!" I yell again, finally grabbing his attention. Gracefully, like some kind of freaking dancer or something, he strides to the back where I'm grabbing boxes full of cereal bowls. The moment I turn around, right after putting the box down, he's right there, in my space. I narrow my eyes at him, starring into those cobalt blue eyes and our matching black underlined peepers, but I don't call him out for being too close. "Why don't you take the register today? I'll be at the counter to show you how it works in a sec, k?"

"Yes." He says in a small voice, and then he's gone. I shake my head and shrug, as I pick back up the box, wondering why the heck I put it down in the first place. I roll my eyes and take the box to the shelf I plan on stacking the contents on. I set it down and walk over to the counter, where Steve, his cobalt blue eyes narrowed, black raven hair sticking up in odd places, just tries to blow up the register with his mind. At least that's what it looked like.

"Okay, first things first, I'm Jayden." I hold out my hand from where I lean onto the counter next to him, he stares at my hand for a moment then licks his lips, nervous. Slowly, and rather gently, he takes my hand and shakes it.

"Ca-Steve." I raise a brow, but he just pretends to have coughed, instead of almost saying another name, instead of supposedly his own. Lucky for him, I'm not the prying type, got too many secrets of my own.

"Alright." I have to actually pull my hand away to get it back, as if that wasn't awkward enough, I have to lean over the guy's shoulder to point out the buttons and explain what they do, to him. He nods, but the perplexed look on his face never leaves. "You got that?"

He pauses, playing with his lip in-between his teeth, reluctant. "Yes?" He says it like a question, and then nods slowly. "I believe so."

I pat him on the back; the poor guy nearly jumps out of his skin. "Don't sweat it, you get confused or have a problem I'll just be restocking the shelves if you need me, k?"

Hesitantly, he nods again.

For a guy that was supposedly forty something, he sure did seem like a skittish fourteen year old.

**-X-**

Day 12: _Steve gets some shut eye._

The guy was pretty quiet, but not in a bad way. The store seemed way more peaceful with him here, instead of Enrico or Karla. But he also seemed dead on his feet, tired and hungry. I didn't ever see him eat a lunch, and usually I'd bring something from my place instead of eating the junk we had here. And today, a Wednesday, our slowest day, the poor guy had fallen asleep by the computer monitor attached to the register.

He was literally sleeping standing up! His arm crossed under his cheek, little snoring noises coming from him, and drool lightly tenting his white long sleeve dress shirt. I sighed, shaking my head at the adorable, but also horribly sad scene. This guy was a complete wreck! And when someone looks worse than me at something like this, well, that was just sad. I was tired too, barely getting any sleep at all while at my apartment.

So, as the best kindness I could, I found an old blanket and pillow boxed up in the manager's office. The guy was never here, so he wouldn't miss it. I laid it out on the floor in the rec room and kinda dragged/carried Steve to it and let him cuddle up with the pillow, going into REM almost as soon as he was flat on his back.

I shook my head and sighed, poor guy.

**-X-**

Day 15: _Old dog, new tricks._

I took the pillow and blanket home with me the day I took it out of the manager's office, put them in the washer and dryer, and then put them back in the rec room. For the next three days, around eight am Steve would start getting droopy, and I'd tell him to catch a few Z's where no one could see him. Steve was baffled, wondering why I'd let him sleep like that, in response I told him I was an insomniac myself….and a college student, knew how it felt to be undead.

When I said undead he looked at me funny, like he had no idea what I was talking about. I rolled my eyes and told him about these wonderful things called all natural, slightly organic, sleeping pills. At first he had a hundred questions about what pills were, how were they natural, where could he get some, what did they do exactly? Who the heck is this guy that he doesn't know what sleeping pills are?

So, I handed him some off the rack behind the register, told him only take two every night, with no alcohol. The moment I mention alcohol he had this look in his eyes, something akin to _'never again'_. That made me smile, and when he looked up from studying the pill bottle and saw me smiling, he smiled too. And there was just something about his smile, unpracticed, genuine, goofy, and lop sided. It reminded me of a five-year-old's smile, authentic and innocent. Again, I wondered who this guy was to have a smile like that.

After Steve caught up on his eight hours of rest, I called him over to show him how to mop the aisles. Well, at first I was just going to hand him the mop, but when he looked at it like it was from outer space, I sighed. How the heck had he gotten this job?

But, one good thing about poor old perplexed Steve, he was a fast learner. Once he got the hang of it, he was off like a rocket. Never had I seen the floors shine so brightly before. And when Steve looked up from the job he had done, he smiled a smile like he was proud, happy he could do something on his own without having to pester me about which buttons to press next. (Seriously, the guy was horrible with all things tech.)

That smile of his, plus the sparkle in his eyes, made something in my chest clench. A warmth, like from before my mom died, pooled in my gut and stuck there. It had been a long time since I had a friend, but me and Steve, something told me we were gonna get along swell.

Day 16: _Food._

About a week after Steve started working at the 7/11 I noticed he never brought anything for lunch, or ate during his break. The guy looked miserable when I went to eat whatever I had in my lunch bucket. I wondered why, and then I realized, if he didn't know how to mop, most likely he didn't know how to cook either.

So, the next day I brought a little more than I usually would for lunch. I wasn't a five star chief, but the one thing I indulged in, since it certainly wasn't going to be cable TV, was ingredients to cook with. I loved cooking, and I believe I'd gotten pretty good at it. So cooking a little extra didn't hurt, just meant I had enough to share.

"Hey?" I shook Steve's shoulder gently as he read his book. Side by side, we sat at the table in the rec room during our few minute lunch break. Steve blinked slowly and looked over at me, tilting his head like a confused dog. I pushed my extra bit of lasagna over to him, smiling reassuringly. "Want some?"

Steve's brow pursed, and the moment he went to push it away shyly his stomach roared. I chuckled, eliciting a small smile from the man, and a blush. "Come on man, just try it! I know you're hungry, you don't gotta lie."

At least, I noted, the dark bags under his eyes were gone. Meaning my sleeping pill suggestion was doing him some good. Too bad sleeping pills didn't work on me.

Tentatively, Steve took the plate and the plastic fork I handed him. Reluctantly he put a small bite of the lasagna in his mouth. The moment it hit his tongue his eyes widened. Before I could blink his plate was licked clean, and he closed his eyes as if sated. Well, I know I'm bringing more for lunch from now on.

**-X-**

Day 19: _Grooming._

Not that I have anything against sex hair and stubble on guys, especially on Steve, but Enrico was giving him the stink eye earlier, and I know that's exactly why. The guy has a hate on for people that even slightly look like hippies….or hipsters for that fact.

"Hey." I lean against one of the freezer units as Steve stacks Marconi boxes. Steve cocks his head, as he does to show he's listening. "I think you need to shave and comb your hair man, Enrico doesn't like it when people look unkempt." I explain, arms crossed as Steve stacks the last box and looks at me, staring into my soul with THOSE freaking eyes!

Steve trails a hand across his beard like stubble and pouts.

I sigh, noting that after meeting Steve, I sigh a thousand times more a day. "You don't know how to shave do you?"

Steve looks up at me again and bites his lip. "No." Well, at least he's honest with me now.

I roll my eyes as I push off from the freezer. Two steps away I find a package of re-usable razors, some shaving cream, and a comb. I throw the products at him and he fumbles to catch each one. "Follow me." I command, but as he hesitates I grab his wrist and drag him to the employee's bathroom.

After we get in front of the mirror I grab the razor's from him, and using a pocket knife I'm not supposed to have, I cut the plastic package open. Next, I take the shaving cream and cut it open. Gently, as not to scare the grown man off, I place him in front of the mirror, turn him so he's looking at both me and his reflection, and put shaving cream all over my hands.

"You watch what I'm doing, k? 'Cause I'm not your mom, so I'm only doing this for you once." I look him dead in the eye when I say this. Shyly, a blush painting his face, he nods.

Carefully I touch his cheeks, covering them in the cream, and I'd love to say that this was strictly professional, and that I was doing this because he was my co-worker. But before now I'd never have done something like this, not for a man at least. It was too personal, too close. And I'd never even had a boyfriend before; porn was the closest I had ever gotten to…_'touching_'. Plus, Steve was cute, incredibly cute, and I would definitely not be put off if he asked me out, heck, even if he asked me for a freaking romp I wouldn't say no.

But this guy was like a puppy, and the past two weeks with him around I haven't even thought about how lonely I was, heck I hadn't even thought about my dad. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but explaining things to Steve, watching him nod off in the rec room, devour my cooking, it felt domestic. Really, it felt like friendship. And I barely had any friends in high school, but the ones I had I was loyal to, and I saved their butts from the fire more times than I could count. So, doing this for Steve, it was nothing, ignoring my hormones, now that was friendship.

After I thought I got the cream on good enough I took the razor, turning back to him, the sharp of the razor wetted by the water from the faucet, I grabbed his chin gently and held him in place. Smoothly, I pulled the razor down his cheek, and then flicked the cream and hair off into the watery sink. I did this several times, with Steve watching intensely with those eyes of his. When I was done I instructed him to wash the rest of the cream off.

"Well, feel better?" I asked, smiling as Steve felt insistently of his own face.

"Yes," He nodded, that gravel voice of his echoing in the bathroom. "It feels….like silk."

I chuckled and took the comb out of the package, running it under some water too. "Yeah, well, I'm not done yet." I grabbed his shoulder, and for the first time, Steve didn't jump when I touched him. I might have imagined it, but I think he even leaned into the touch. "Stay still, yeah?" I turned him to face me again and combed through his hair 'till it shone and was straight on his head.

After I was done I stepped back and smirked. "Now you finally look like a respectable employed man!" I teased, and of course Steve's face fell, as if hurt.

"I did not look like a respectable employed man before?" He asks, pouting.

I rolled my eyes. "To be honest you looked like a drunk."

Steve's brow pinched and he bit his lip, almost as if aggravated.

I brushed my hand against his shoulder and laughed. "Dude, chill, I was kidding! You look great, no way Enrico's gonna fire you now!"

And with that, Steve smiled, so I did too.

**-X-**

Day 23: _Slushy disaster!_

"Aw, Mom!" A ten year old little kid whined. "It's not working!"

"Then get the other flavor."

"But I don't want the other flavor!"

I rolled my eyes from where I stood at the register. _'Brat.'_ I mouthed, flipping through one of my English books, studying up for a test I'd be taking after work. When I heard fumbling I looked up, Steve was suddenly there, by the ICEE machine, looking at it as if it was the puzzle box with the answer to lives questions inside.

'_Crap!'_ I panicked as I put the book down quickly and hurried over to where Steve stood, analyzing the machine. The kid and his mom were standing not far away, expecting Blue Eyes to fix the broken flavor so the kid would stop whining. Although knowing Steve he probably just wanted to help the kid, honestly. The guy was something sometimes.

"Uh, Steve, need a hand there buddy?" I asked.

When Steve looked up he had this determined expression on his face and something akin to anger lighting in his eyes. Feverishly, he shook his head. "No, I can do it." He insisted. And while usually I'm all for men learning their lessons, I didn't want the little bit of courage Steve had finally worked up since being here, to be crushed because he couldn't fix a damn slushy machine.

"You sure?" I asked again, getting closer.

Steve's steely blue gaze, now holding something akin to a warrior's fire in it, stoked. "Yes."

And the next thing you know, blue raspberry ICEE flavoring is covering the floor, falling out in a landslide like an avalanche down a mountain. The kid cried, his mom dragging him out of the 7/11, and Steve looked on the verge of tears too.

He sat, kneeling in the blue goop, as I fetched two mops and two buckets. I rolled them toward him and he looked up at me. Those once fiery orbs were now the color of rain.

I smiled at him and offered him a hand up. Reluctantly, he took it and stood. A few minutes later, as his shoulders sag, Steve looks over at me, our clean up almost finished.

"Do you ever tire of….of me? Creating disasters and unable to fix my mistakes?" When Steve asked me this, it felt like his gaze went right through me, like he was talking to someone else behind me, and not me myself.

I shook my head, I honestly couldn't believe him. "Nah, I'll never get tired of you. You're just learning; you can't expect to understand everything when you're just starting out. Everyone makes mistakes here and there, people with few experiences even more so. But there's a difference between you and them, Steve." I paused, looking back at cobalt with the emerald in my eyes. Steve looked at me, so focused, you'd think what I was saying was the answer to all his problems. "You're trying to do what's right, with all your heart, and that's really what counts…that's all that counts."

I'm not sure why I felt pulled to say something like that, I didn't do meaningful advice crap, but Steve needed to hear those words. After I said them, his eyes began to glisten, and my heart warmed.

**-X-**

Day 30: _Fake IDs._

Working on a Saturday sucked, especially a Saturday night, but working a Saturday night with Steve wasn't that bad. Plus, I baked cheese cake squares with chocolate, and put them in the rec room fridge as a surprise for my co-worker.

"Hey, uh, case a beers man." As I came out from the back I heard a squeaky, yet clearly masked with gruff intent, voice. When I looked up I saw a punk in a pink shirt that said; 'cool story babe, now make me a sandwich', with a cap pulled over his head and sagging pants. My first thought was clearly this guy wasn't twenty one, the dipshit.

"Steve!" I called, quickly blue eyes set on me from where he was going to grab the beer. "Check for ID, if he's not twenty one or older he can't drink alcoholic beverages." I explained, just taking it that Steve didn't know the twenty one or older law.

Steve nodded numbly and put the beer back, asking for ID. The little shit pulls out an ID, acne all over his face, and baby fat still in his cheeks. Steve squinted at it, and looked up at me for help. I sighed.

I strolled over to the counter and took the ID from Steve's hands. When I looked at it I laughed, it was an utterly pathetic fake ID. Worse than what I'd seen, and I'd seen some pretty bad ones. "Sorry Mister Rick HardAbs, you're not getting any beer, short bus." The moment I said _'short bus'_ Steve flinched, but I ignored it for the red cheeked enraged, obviously, fifteen year old.

"You cunt! You can't-"

I side stepped around the corner and grabbed his pink t-shirt, lifting him to his tipy toes. "I can't what, you little shit? Enforce the law because I'm a woman? Get out of the damn store!" I pushed him away and he stumbled, pride wounded.

I thought he'd go, that that was it. But I blinked, relaxed for a second, and before I knew it a punch was coming my way. I was ready to take it, taking fists and bruises inflicted on me by my dad, this little punk couldn't have half the strength of that. He'd barely scratch me compared to that.

I'm ready to take it, so that I can break his little pretty boy nose in reply, but instead the fist is caught just before it reaches me face. I blink, and Steve has the guy up by the collar, dragging him out of the store, his expression like stone as he throws the kid out the door like a bouncer.

I feel breath catch in my throat. What did I just see? Did Steve just catch a fist? What the heck? And what's that look on his face?

_Who is this guy?_

**-X-**

Day 40: _Memories._

It was pouring down rain outside, the air was humid, and I found an old radio that worked in the rec room closet. I plugged it in near the register and turned it on, flipping it to the best classic rock station I knew.

The moment Kansas started playing, Carry On My Wayward Son, at that, I took off my stupid blue vest, a white tank top all I have on underneath, and I start singing and dancing. It was something me and my brother used to do, well, he would sing and I would dance.

"Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry nooooooo more!"

I leaned my back over the counter and saw Steve as he came in, holding a broom, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his gaze far away like it was so often. I stopped abruptly, the song still playing I rushed up to him, concerned.

"Hey big guy, what's wrong?"

Steve swallowed thickly and covered his eyes with his hand. "I am fine….I-I was just remembering a friend I once knew."

Reassuringly, I put my hand on his shoulder. "So you did exist before you came here." I said teasingly.

Steve uncovered his eyes, confused. "Of course, why would you think otherwise?"

"No reason, sorry…" I shook my head and licked my lips. "That was an asshole thing to say, I'm sorry." I paused, looking at Steve and tilting my head, smiling so that he would smile. "Wanna talk about it?"

Steve looked down at me and shook his head. "No, not really." Then something seemed to catch his eye. Before I could do anything, Steve's head was cupping my necklace, holding it reverently. It was the brass angel wings my mother had given me for my birthday the year before she died. "Like them? They're my wings. Or….at least the only pair I'll ever get." I explain, a bitter and cynical tone to my voice.

"Where did you get these?" He asks softly, as if afraid to spook me. Perhaps he could see under my mask better than most…..of course he could.

I eye him closely and cross my arms. "I tell you that and you tell me about your friend." I bartered, curious about the earlier existence of the strange man I called friend.

Steve paused, thinking. Something in his eyes changes, shifts, and he nods. "If that is what you wish."

I huff. "Okay Princess Bride." Steve furrowed his brow, still not getting any references I ever make. "My mom gave this necklace to me, said it was because she believed angels were watching over me."

Steve shivered, as if the word angel made him cold. He raised a brow as he let his hand slide away from my neck. "Your mother was a believer." It wasn't set as a question, but I answered it like one anyway.

"Yeah, true Christian. I guess I was at one point too." When I spoke of my mother's believes I felt smaller, more vulnerable, and I looked away, at the rain soaking our windows.

"What changed?" Steve inquired simply. Simple question, hard answer.

I bit my lip, debating whether to lie or be honest. When I looked back into Steve's eyes, at how close he stood to me, my question was answered. "Someone very important to me was taken, and my life fell apart."

Steve nodded, understanding in his eyes. We stood like that for a while, sympathetic silence between the two of us. Then Steve spoke up again, looking past me, yet into me, with his gaze.

"You are like him."

"Who?"

"My friend, the one I mentioned. You are very alike."

The sentence '_So much it hurts_,' was left hanging in the air between us as the rain fell.

**-X-**

Day 53: _Gone._

I missed my shift with Steve the day before, sick as a dog because of the stupid rain! I hoped desperately that he was okay. I had texted him, and remembered the day I had to explain texting to him, and told him why I couldn't come. He sent a frowny face back, asking if I needed his assistance. I laughed, but cried on the inside because of how sweet he was and how much he cared. I told him I'd be by the next day, and I had to ride my motorcycle in the rain again! Luckily it had stopped half way to me getting there. So I was only moderately drenched.

As I stepped up to the 7/11's door my phone started singing "Don't Stop Believing" meaning I had another text message. I opened it, the message was from Steve. And even though I was about to step in and see him anyway I opened the text.

'_Goodbye.'_

I didn't understand what he meant by that. So I decided to ask him, but instead of Steve being at the register like he should have been, Enrico was there.

"Hey, where's Steve?"

Enrico looked up from counting his money and shrugged. "Left."

"Left where?" I couldn't filter the edge that came to my voice, my heart clenching.

"He said he had to leave, that he was never coming back. Gone off with some guy in an old black Impala." The manager explained, ripping out my insides one word at a time.

Steve was gone, said goodbye, I'd never see him again. I nodded numbly to the manager and headed toward the rec room. Tears were already spilling out of my eyes; I couldn't hold back the sobbing. He was just supposed to be a co-worker, but he had become my friend, the only person I had.

But just like always, just like everyone else, he left.

I was all alone again.


End file.
